


you cannot call for love like a dog

by inawasteland



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Geralt still remembers the Continent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bounty hunter!Geralt (sort of), teacher!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inawasteland/pseuds/inawasteland
Summary: When Geralt is drawn into a new world, he is startled to discover that his old memories have mingled with new ones - a world where he was once married to Yennefer and adopted a child named Cirilla, affectionately nicknamed Ciri.  He is also surprised to find that among his new ones, not a single memory of Jaskier exists.  Naturally, Geralt must get to the bottom of this - how did this new world come to be?  How is it he is the only one who remembers his world as a witcher?  Where exactly is Jaskier, anyway?  And perhaps most importantly, what is the true purpose of creating a world in which witchers do not exist?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. the day the world went away

**Author's Note:**

> Overall title is from a song by the band Holy Holy, chapter title is from Nine Inch Nails (hello eclectic music taste).
> 
> This is what happens when you start brainstorming a fic during a 1.5 hour drive home. Trying to make it no more than 10 chapters so that I might actually complete this one, but I have not done an outline, so it could very well change.

The first thing that Geralt notices when he wakes up is that his senses have dulled. When once he his nostrils would be accosted with the sweet scents following one of Jaskier’s baths, or the sunlight streaming in through the window would damn near blind him, and now he just feels.... _less_. He pauses for a moment to analyze the situation before him. 

His sheets were scratchy when he fell asleep, not nearly as luxurious as the soft and almost silky texture he can feel enveloping his nearly naked form. He is also in a proper bedroom, decorated by framed artwork hung up on walls adorned with a simple painted stucco, as opposed to the simple, all-wooden frame he recalled falling asleep in the night before. 

And yet there is some odd familiarity to this place, even though he cannot recall ever being here before. He should feel terror in waking up in such a foreign place, but his heart cannot find it within him to start beating rapidly. 

His... _heart._ A witcher’s heart never beats this rapidly at rest. That, in and of itself gives Geralt a start, and he rushes out of bed and, his body on autopilot manages to maneuver himself to the bathroom, which – he has a bathroom? He has a _house_?! Everything comes flooding to the surface, an information and sensory overload as he looks into the mirror and, although his hair is still a delightful sheen of silver, his eyes are no longer that ethereal shade of yellow that were unmatched by any but another witcher. 

Is he...human? 

And his bare chest, where once it was littered with scars, a storybook in and of itself detailing each and every one of his adventures, now seems to have been wiped clean. He feels cold dread creep its way down his throat and settle into his heart as memories that he definitely does not remember having start to fill the gap and alert him to what exactly has happened. 

Adopted by Vesemir (some things never change) ...boarding school...dropped out of college...became a bounty hunter for a while...married Yennefer...adopted Ciri...divorce...and yet out of all the odd, disjointed memories, there is one face he cannot conjure up. Sure, he remembers the rest of his witcher brethren – now boarding school brothers – and Renfri, his first target as a bounty hunter, who he tried _so hard_ to save, but couldn’t. 

He laughs at all the similarities to this new world which should feel so foreign to him, and yet it feels all too much like home. But if this world seemingly doesn’t have Jaskier in it, then what the fuck is the point? It would be more of a prison than the freedom that would accompany not being a witcher anymore. 

But he is not allowed to brood any longer over this travesty, as a phone is ringing – a shrill tone that would most likely have given him a headache for hours, had he still been burdened with a witcher’s sharpened senses. Instinct begins to take over as Geralt maneuvers over to his cell phone and picks it up with a grunt, his finger automatically swiping to answer the call. 

A very familiar voice is on the other end, and were it not for the very distinct name of _Yennefer_ displaying on the caller ID on his phone, there would never have been any chance for his caller to deceive him as Geralt would never be able to forget a voice like hers. 

“Geralt,” he hears on the other end, and winces immediately because, predictably, she does not sound happy with him, but then again, what else is new? 

“Yennefer,” Geralt responds, keeping his voice cool and neutral until he can gauge what exactly it is that he did that displeases her. 

“Don’t forget, this is your weekend with Ciri. I’m going to be out of town this weekend so I physically cannot pick her up from school on Friday if you forget.” Ah, that would explain it, then. Although, deep down, Geralt knows he would not voluntarily forget to pick up the girl from school. At least, he does not think he is capable of actually letting something attached to his Child Surprise slip from his memory. There must then be some other explanation, but that is for another time. 

“I have not forgotten,” Geralt replies, pacing around his living room as his eyes dart from photograph to photograph and memories that he should not recall having flood back to the forefronts of his mind. “I will be there. Have a pleasant weekend.” And he wants so very much to plea with her, to find some memory of theirs from the world they shared when she was a sorceress and he a witcher, but he cannot find it within himself to demand her time when she sounds so sad and so angry within the short conversation they share with each other. 

“Good. And Geralt?” The pause in her voice gives him hope, as if maybe she _does_ remember and is also trying to gauge the situation. But alas, he is ultimately disappointed, when the next words he hears are a simple, “Take care of yourself, okay?” 

“I will.” A simple promise – one that may or may not actually be fulfilled, as Geralt cannot recall a single time he actually tried to take care of himself. Even while on the hunt, the act of taking potions or oiling his sword were only self-preservation methods, because not doing so would mean a dead witcher, which would mean no coin, and ultimately it was done out of habit and less out of any wish to continue enjoying a world which despised him. 

“I...will see you on Sunday to pick her up. Bye.” The sadness in Yennefer’s voice is unmistakable, and Geralt tries to conjure up memories that would explain what it is that he had done to cause such pain in her voice. 

“Bye, Yenn,” Geralt has no trouble lacing his voice with guilt. When hasn’t he felt guilty when it comes to Yennefer? He recalls the incident with the djinn, and often wonders what would have happened if he had not forced her to let go. What would their life have been like had he not intervened, if their lives were not locked in place by some mystical force? 

The false memories that Geralt is left with paints a very strained relationship towards the end. Where Geralt has been consumed by work in an attempt to give Ciri the comfortable life she deserves – and he cannot ignore the irony that in the end he nearly lost Ciri in the process as she naturally gravitated back to her mother instead. He recalls loving Yennefer fiercely, but that there was always some sort of void that he had tried to fill, at first with different hobbies – photography, ballroom dancing, painting – but nothing stuck with him. 

He remembers refusing to cheat on Yennefer, and openly discussing this chasm deep inside his heart – and oh, what a fight _that_ was. Yenn immediately went on the defensive – how could she not be enough? Wasn’t she enough when they were married? And Geralt , well he _tried_ to explain that he thought once they were married, once they had a family with Ciri, it would feel like enough. But that feeling never went away. 

And Geralt, well he begins to understand why that might be. Because if the he of this world is anything like the world that he went asleep in, that void can only truly be filled if he can track down one Julian Alfred Pankratz. And that realization causes him to laugh derisively, because it would figure, wouldn’t it? The man he recalled trying to drive away once, the one person not driven towards Geralt by way of Destiny, is the one person that Geralt needs to track down. 

A wave of fear washes over him as a single thought dances through his brain – _what if_ _Jaskier_ _does not actually exist in this world?_ Will he be doomed to an eternity of living in this mummer’s farce, feeling like a husk incapable of completely giving his heart over to someone else? 

But as his fingers dance across a keyboard and he shakily hovers the mouse over “Google Search,” he closes his eyes and prays to whatever goddess that may be listening that his little songbird managed to materialize in this world, and that he is _searchable_. Because that would be his luck, right? That Jaskier would be alive in this world, but a lack of fame would force Geralt to dig deeper than a single Google search to find the idiot bard. 

Thankfully, for Geralt’s sake, he would not have to search too far and wide to track down the bard. For although the Google search yielded no results (and the string of curses to fall from Geralt’s mouth are too scandalous to repeat here) it seems this world is determined to bring the two together. For at that very moment as Geralt starts to pace once more across his living room floor to try and come up with a master plan, young Cirilla is walking into a classroom, her hands grasping a violin case. And at the front of the room, perched on a desk, sits Jaskier, awaiting the chime of a bell to signal the beginning of today’s tutoring session. 


	2. so come back, i am waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you see they’re setting up a carnival?” Ciri asks, eyes bright with mirth as she twirls spaghetti around her fork and attempts to eat it in one bite. 
> 
> “Are they?” Geralt asks, suspicious of where Ciri is going with this. He knows immediately what she is about to ask before the words are even uttered. 
> 
> “We should go! We only get to hang out like once a week so I never get to do anything fun with you. And no, _dad_ , going to the museum is _not fun_ ,” she insists with a hmph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took me so long to update. I am still struggling to find the time to write during the week. But thank you so much for reading and commenting, and I hope you continue to enjoy this!
> 
> Chapter title from a song by Okkervil River.

_ “You must find them. You must make them remember.”  _

_ Geralt _ _ feels like he’s floating, and it is the most pleasant situation. But the woman’s voice that is calling to him has a sense of urgency that pulls him back to the ground. _

_ “Who? Who must I find?”  _ _ Geralt _ _ asks, looking around for the source of the voice. Where is she, the woman who calls to him?” _

_ “Yennefer.  _ _ Ciri _ _. Jaskier. They are not safe.” _

_ Geralt _ _ knows those names. Lilac and gooseberries. The lion cub of Cintra. That damned bard. “Yen found me. I know where  _ _ Ciri _ _ is. But Jaskier...you’re sure he’s here?” _

Geralt bolts upright out of what must have been a dream as the alarm he set started going off in a rather annoying fashion. Having a human body after so many years of existing as a  witcher meant that  Geralt just isn’t used to how much more energy he exerts even just doing normal human things. How  Jaskier always managed to be so  godsdamned energetic and not need to constantly be napping is beyond his comprehension.

It only takes  Geralt five minutes to recollect himself as he remembers why he set the alarm in the first place. Yennefer had made it abundantly clear that he needed to pick  Ciri up from school. And  Geralt is not about to give Yennefer any excuses to be angry with him. Magical or not, Yennefer has always been the sort of person you did not want to trifle with.

When  Geralt finally deems himself ready to pick  Ciri up from school – which meant actually putting effort into his appearance for a change, as  Geralt generally lets himself be disheveled on any given day – he makes his way to the garage attached to his house and grabs the key to his car, a Ford Mustang with a vanity license plate of R0ACH” - the zero in place of an O had been necessary, and  Geralt recalls how grumpy he was when he found out someone else had ROACH.

After the ten-minute drive to  Ciri’s school,  Geralt realizes that he is still fairly early considering there is only one other car waiting for their kid, so  Geralt takes this as an opportunity to park and wander around the campus until school lets out.  Geralt remembers it being Yennefer’s idea to enroll  Cirilla in this school – it’s a private school, but the public school didn’t have a good music program and  Ciri was so passionate about music, it would be a shame to let her talents go to waste. So  Geralt eventually gave in. Deep down,  Geralt would have  sacrificed the world if it meant  Ciri would be happy.

As  Geralt wanders, so does his mind as he thinks of more of this  Geralt’s memories. Taking  Ciri to the playground. A beach picnic with Yennefer. It’s becoming too much and  Geralt can feel his chest tighten and his breath quicken, filled with an anxiety he didn’t know he had. Or maybe he always lived with it, but had become damn good at suppressing it to the point where he had convinced himself he was perfectly fine.

In the midst of all his ruminations,  Geralt doesn’t notice that there happens to be a man walking towards him wearing a pair of headphones – the noise cancelling kind, of course – and he is not paying at all attention to the world around him. It is a recipe for disaster, for the next thing that happens is the two oblivious men colliding, and  Geralt lets out a soft curse as he drops his keys while the other drops his phone, which thankfully does not shatter. It isn’t until  Geralt is helping the stranger pick up his phone and locking eyes with this person to apologize for not paying attention (even though his first instinct is to accuse the other of not paying attention to his surroundings) that he even realizes that this is no stranger at all. At least, not to him now. His eyes widen with recognition, and he almost blurts out the name on the tip of his tongue before he recognizes that not only does this man not recognize him (and it hurts, oh it hurts so much when he sees this in the man’s eyes) but that  _ this _ world’s  Geralt would not know him. So, he does his best to dash out the air of recognition and pull back his eyes into his best brooding gaze.

“I’m so, so sorry,” the other man apologizes right away, pulling his headphones down so they hung around his neck. “This is a really good song and I just must have gotten lost in my own little world.  Jaskier , by the way.” He holds out a hand and  Geralt almost pinches himself. He must have fallen back in a dream. It’s the only explanation for how he could just randomly bump into the only other person he needed to find in this world, after being so certain that he just didn’t exist.

“ Geralt ,” he replies, looking down at  Jaskier’s hand. It feels odd to be taking the offered hand, shaking it, when he recalls their first meeting back in Posada. How  Geralt tried to scare him off, how  Jaskier refused to let him. Everything comes flooding back to him, and considering the amount of what  Geralt considers false memories taking up residence in his brain, he is relieved to find that he still remembers these moment – even the painful ones.  _ If life could give me one blessing... _

Geralt blinks away that memory, lest  Jaskier fear for  Geralt’s sanity. Although, considering his current surroundings, he is concerned for his own sanity.

“Wait, I know you! You’re  Ciri’s dad, right? She’s mentioned you. Didn’t tell me you had incredible hair, though.” And  Jaskier , goddammit, he reaches up like he is about to take a piece of hair between his fingers, before remembering personal boundaries and dropping his hand to his side. “Right, sorry. We just met and here I am, about to fondle a piece of your hair. I really am striking out today, aren’t I?” And the absolute idiot laughs  _ nervously _ .  Geralt cannot recall a single time when  Jaskier was nervous around  Geralt in the length of time he knew the man.

“That’s me,”  Geralt responds with the faintest of smiles. He wants so badly to beg for  Jaskier to remember, so they can skip all this pretense. It surprises him how, out of everyone, it is  Jaskier who he wants most to remember their time together. “I came here to pick her up, actually. Looks like I’m a bit on the early side.”

Jaskier nods energetically and glances back at the school. “She’s one of my best students, you know. I’ve never seen someone pick up the violin that quickly.”

Geralt tries to ignore the swelling in his heart when he hears of how proficient  Ciri is. He can’t help it, though,  Ciri will always be that important to him, no matter what  world he happened to be in. He opens his mouth to thank  Jaskier for saying so when he hears the bell ringing, signifying the end of classes, and before he has a chance to say anything else, a throng of students began to emerge.

“Ah well, I had better get going before it’s impossible to get out of here. Oh! You should come see one of my band’s shows sometime. If you’re into music, that is. Bring Ciri. It was nice talking to you, Geralt!”

Geralt is left perplexed at the exchange that just took place. He barely got any word in and. ..of _ course _ Jaskier has a band. A band whose name he does not know, and given that  Jaskier is not famous enough to be on Google, he doubts he will just be able to figure out without a little help.

He doesn’t get a chance to think much more about this, however, as he spots  Ciri skipping out of the doors, a heavy backpack strapped to her back and a violin case held tightly in her arms. And Geralt...he just cannot do anything but smile.

-x-

“Did you see they’re setting up a carnival?”  Ciri asks, eyes bright with mirth as she twirls spaghetti around her fork and attempts to eat it in one bite.

“Are they?”  Geralt asks, suspicious of where  Ciri is going with this. He knows immediately what she is about to ask before the words are even uttered.

“We should go! We only get to hang out like once a week so I never get to do anything fun with you. And no,  _ dad _ , going to the museum is  _ not fun _ ,” she insists with a hmph.

Geralt just shrugs, finishing swallowing the morsel of food he had been chewing before responding. “I had fun at the museum. And it was educational. But if you finish all of your homework, maybe we can go.”

Ciri wrinkles her nose, causing  Geralt to laugh, which then causes  Ciri to raise an eyebrow. “Is...is that a laugh? Dad, are you feeling okay?!” she asks, jokingly, and places her hand on his forehead. “You don’t have a fever...stilll...”

“I swear, you should have tried out for the school play,”  Geralt muses, stabbing at a tomato. “I’m serious, though. Don’t change the subject. Homework first, play later.”

Ciri groans and rolls her eyes, but  Geralt spies a small smirk which shows she is not nearly as annoyed as she is making herself seem to be. “ Fiiiiine ,” she whines.

Geralt hums to himself before letting the room be filled with nothing but the sounds of metal scraping against porcelain as they continue to eat in a comfortable silence. He wonders for a moment if perhaps the answer to at least one of his problems isn’t just staring at him in the face. Literally.

“I bumped into your music teacher today,”  Geralt mentions nonchalantly, searching  Ciri’s face for any sort of reaction. Depending on how positively she reacted would determine if she knows more about said music teacher than the average student might.

“Jas. ..I mean Mr. Pankratz?”  Ciri asks, her eyes lighting up with what  Geralt supposes is both surprise and joy. It would make sense for her to favor  Jaskier , if he considered her one of his best students. That would make the class – and the teacher – all the more enjoyable.

“Mind you, when I say  bump into him, I do not mean metaphorically,”  Geralt continues. “He seems nice. And he had a lot of positive things to say about you.”

Ciri’s eyes widen and...is that a blush  Geralt sees on her cheeks? She quickly covers her face with her hands, as if  Geralt cannot see right through her actions. Considering  Ciri almost used his first name, he thinks he stands a good chance at getting the information he is seeking from her.

“He also mentioned that he’s in a band, but did not get the chance to tell me what band and where his next show was.”  Geralt tries to sound neutral, but he is almost certain that he is failing miserably. Not that it matters, because Ciri is apparently all too eager to volunteer this information.

“Oh! I heard his band is playing at the Siren’s Den tomorrow night. And before you ask, no, you did not hear this from me and no, he did not tell me himself. And no, I did not hear this from Dara.”

Geralt just shakes his head and chuckles to himself. If  Ciri wasn’t half as cute as she was,  Geralt would be much more concerned about how she came across this bit of information, not to mention who this Dara kid is.

“It’s not a school night, by the way.  So you should totally take me with you,”  Ciri adds before Geralt can say anything else.

“ Ciri ...”  Geralt warns, trying his best to look authoritative, but he knows when  Ciri gives him that pout, he is absolutely done for. “...Fine...but you’re not telling your mother.”

-x-

The time is eleven fifty-nine. A group of men and women stand in a circle in front of a maze of mirrors, chanting in a foreign tongue. At the stroke of midnight, the reflection in the mirrors shifts until each of them display a young girl with ashen hair and green eyes wearing a blue cloak.

“She will be well- protected.  The witch made sure of that.”

“Not to worry. We know his weakness and we will exploit it. He will have no choice but to surrender the child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, these chapters are not betaed. I am hopeful that I managed to catch the most egregious errors, but please bear with me if I missed anything.


End file.
